


Hotel Room

by WeirdChick333



Category: Last Shadow Puppets, Milex - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Funny, Idiots in Love, M/M, Only One Bed, The Last Shadow Puppets - Freeform, hotel room, milex - Freeform, trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdChick333/pseuds/WeirdChick333
Summary: Alex and Miles end up stuck in a hotel room forced to share a bed. There's some back and forth, it's funny, not much plot. Stuff happens. Of course it does. It's milex.Check it out and enjoy.
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	Hotel Room

“One room?” Alex blew out a breath as he gave his heavy piece of luggage a yank. He stood behind Miles, who sat in one of the VIP guest chairs at the receptionist's desk and found this far too amusing, evidenced by his cackling laugh. Alex was not – laughing or amused. “What is this? A bad trope? Did we get trapped in a fanfic?”

Across from him, cowering behind the gaudy desk with its decorative plant, the golden pen to sign your reservation, and the ridiculously over-the-top advertising leaflet which named the _Clift Royal Sonesta Hotel_ a place of no comparison, sat a young woman who bit her lip apologetically, mortified no doubt.

Tired and cranky as he was, Alex didn't care. Maybe he'd care tomorrow and walk up to her and apologize or at the very least say a kind word. But not now!

Miles gave his thigh a reprimanding slap, coming perilously close to much more sensitive territory. “Cut it and be nice,” he admonished, unaware of almost injuring some pricy bits or Alex's glower. “It's not her fault management screwed up.”

They'd been supposed to go to a different hotel, but the rooms had gotten booked for the wrong day. Management at its best, right? A whole bunch of events took place this weekend, the pre-chosen hotel was all booked up, and this one had exactly one room left.

A single room.

“Can we at least get a spare bed? Or an extra mattress,” Alex suggested dryly, lowering his bar of requirements to ground level. He met the shy employee's eyes and nodded at Miles, mouthing, “for him?”

She quickly bit back a smile.

Miles snapped his head up, glared at Alex. “If anyone's sleeping _not_ in the bed, it's you.”

“Look,” sighed Alex, the weight of a long day of rehearsal clinging to his bones. “I don't like doing this, but you leave me no choice. I'm pulling rank. I'm Alex Turner. I get the bed!”

“Oh, you should be embarrassed about yourself,” snarled Miles, uncrossing his legs and unloading his entire unleashed annoyance on him in a single scoff. “You're like a few weeks older than I am and if I were you, I'd stop boasting about it. I'm not the one with the grey hair!”

Alex's hand soared up to cover his hairline. “One fucking…” He swallowed hard. Huffed. Looked away. “We'll take the fucking room.”

Miles turned back to the young woman and smiled warmly. “Of course we are. There was never any doubt. Where do I sign?”

“I sign,” snapped Alex, snatching the pen from the table, then pulled his credit card from his pocket.

Miles shook his head. In the old days, he'd have been annoyed by Alex's insistence to pay bills of any kind. These days, Miles was over it. If anything, he found it funny. “You're such a husband sometimes!”

“Say the wife,” retorted Alex.

“The wife who'll have a headache tonight and send her husband to sleep on the couch.”

At the word 'couch', the receptionist paled and lowered her gaze, a move which filled Alex with dread when he asked, “what?”

“Eh…the room does not come with a couch.”

“There's no—” He forced himself to remain calm. “Is it a broom closet?”

“It's a standard single room. Those come with a queen-sized bed, which would be sixty by eighty inch, or one-hundred and fifty-two by—”

“I fucking know the size of a queen-sized—”

Another slap to the groin, dead center this time. And it was not an accident, that Alex was certain of. His hands balled into fists.

Miles cut him off. “Just a bed, then?”

“A chair,” supplied the employee cheerfully, as though the presence of a bloody seat could make up for any of this. “A small desk, and a closet with five hangers. Plus, of course, an adjoined bathroom with a shower. No bathtub,” she added quietly, opened the drawer to her desk, and withdrew a keycard. “Room 704. I hope you'll enjoy your stay at the _Clift Royal Sonesta Hotel_ where fulfilling our guests’ needs is our main goal. Have a nice evening.”

Heaving his duffle back over his shoulder, Alex spun around. “I don't see how. I need a fucking cigarette.”

She averted her eyes before mentioning, “No smoking on hotel premises.”

“Of course not.” Could this fucking night get any worse?

Miles wrapped his arm around Alex's tense shoulders and chuckled. “Wish you hadn't told the tour bus driver to make a head-start for LA, right?”

“How,” gritted Alex, aiming for the elevators, “can you find this okay?” It escaped him. They'd be forced to spend the night in a tiny little bed inside a room that allowed no smoking, while stuck with a bloody bathroom that didn't even come with a bathtub! He hated bathtubs, never took a bath. But for fuck's sake, tonight would have been a really good night to take a bath!

Or have Miles sleep in the tub.

Miles' good mood was unwavering. “Relax, will you? Like, how fucking often have we shared a bed? What's the big deal? For crying out loud, we shared a bunk the other night!”

“Will you lower your voice?” he warned him. Alex looked over his shoulder, frantically checking if anyone had heard. “I was drunk and so were you!” By the time he'd hauled his ass into the bunk, he was too wasted and too beat to care that Miles was already in it. Only after he'd woken up the next morning, sporting a most unwelcome boner and enough bad breath to replace smelling salts, had he fathomed that he'd crawled into Miles' bunk.

Miles, snoring and dreaming 'bout God knew what notwithstanding, had naturally taken note of Alex's arousal. He'd rolled over, curled in, and mumbled something which had sounded scarily much like, “mmh, so big.”

Alex had fled the scene of the crime, not caring that he'd ripped Miles from his peaceful slumber. He'd scrambled for the shower, had used up all the hot water, then a lot of the cold water as well, and had emerged an hour later blushing like a Victorian virgin on her wedding night.

Miles – thank God! – had been too dead to the world to recollect _woody-gate_. But he'd been pissed about the water. As had been everybody else.

Miles stepped into the elevator as soon as the door chimed open. Cheeks dimpled with a wide grin while reaching for Alex's hand, first linking their fingers, then swinging the joined hands back and forth. “Come on, sweetie. Our room's waiting.”

“Call me that one more time,” he bristled, wrenching his hand away.

“Prefer an elegant _darlin_ ', or a sexy _hot stuff_?”

The doors closed. Alex dropped his luggage, gave Miles' chest a solid shove, and pinned him to the metal wall. “Watch it. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I have to sleep next to you tonight. Don't push it.”

Vexingly unruffled, and by that achieving that Alex was the polar opposite, Miles stretched tall, leaned up, and crossed his arms behind his head, basking in an unfair amount of pleasure when goading him that, “you should add sexual frustration to that list.”

Alex gave Miles' chest a slap. “Asshole.”

“Got one, yes.” A wink. Then, with the confidence and flair of James Bond himself, he leaned forward and smirked. “It's closed for business tonight.”

Defeat.

That's what this was.

Waterloo. Not the song, but the battle.

Miles had enjoyed two espressos at the hotel bar before the receptionist managed to secure a room for them. Alex had made do with a martini. Now he suffered the consequences. He was whacked and Miles painfully awake. Not only that, his friend was fucking enjoying himself, too.

Alex did the only sensible thing he could come up with.

He sulked.

Arms crossed, facing away from Miles, he served him the silent treatment.

Miles pushed away from the wall, reached for his bag, and laughed. “Be stubborn all you want, Al.” He smacked a sound kiss onto his cheek. “I'll be nice tonight. I'll wear an entire pajama, gladly forgo my pillow so we can place it between us, and when you rock a hard-on again, I'll let you take a shower for as long as you want!” Another kiss.

The door opened and Miles exited. He had the audacity to leave with a bloody swagger in his step.

Alex, embarrassed, ears burning and cheeks crimson, could only stare after him. The doors closed and he remained in place. Fingers hit the lobby-button.

Time for a cigarette. Or a dozen.

“You said you'd wear a pajama.”

Miles, standing by the high window, inspected his outfit with a shrug. “Am.”

“You're wearing boxers and a vest.”

“A summer pajama.”

“What would you wear if you were alone?”

A brash grin.

Yep. Why had he even bothered to ask? “You're not supposed to sleep naked,” he muttered, dropping his luggage in the corner. The damned image Miles had planted in his head tormented him by simply existing there in the first place. “It's bad for your health.”

“The opposite is the case.”

“What if you have to pee at night?”

“I'll go do it,” countered Miles and nearly suffocated on a laugh. “Come on, like you never sleep naked. Are you telling me you get dressed after sex?” His brow rose, his features a display of disbelief.

Alex went to unpack. “Not…no.”

“See? Sleeping naked after sex is the same as sleeping naked without sex. Except, well, without the sex. Besides, I live alone. Who will see me if I head to the bathroom naked?”

An unsettling idea hit Alex's head. “On the bus, we sleep bunk to bunk.” They rarely ever closed the curtains. “Please tell me you wear boxers in the bunk.”

“Of course I do! Not gonna flash anyone on the bus!”

“Good.”

“Slept naked in your guest room last month.”

Shoulders stiffened. He was messing with him. He knew. The thinking-parts of his head recognized the signs. Heard that ribbing undercurrent in Miles' words. But damnit, it worked! _Keep breathing,_ Alex told himself. _In and out. He wants you to react. Don't let him win._

Miles plopped down on the chair. “Walked naked into your kitchen for a midnight snack.”

_Fuck._

Napoleon hurled a pair of socks his way. “Stop it!” 

Swiveling around on the chair, Miles turned to the minibar and raided it, whilst finding this conversation more than funny. “You're such a prude. Let's see what we got here. You gotta eat. If your temper keeps going, I'll never get any sleep. You'll have me stay on the floor or something.”

_There's an idea!_

“We got chocolate bars, some nuts – peanuts, not the male kind,” he remarked, his relentless quips tearing hard on Alex's stretched nerves. “So stop clutching your pearls. There are some bottles of—”

“Alcohol?” perked Alex up. “Mine. All of 'em.”

“Forget it! Fifty-fifty.”

“Forty-sixty.”

“There's four little bottles of Vodka. It won't get any of us anywhere.”

“Let's just order room service.”

“We're regular guests, tonight. Not Vip.” He tossed the info flyer his way. “Room service serves food 'til eight. It's nine-thirty.”

“I'm Alex Fucking Turner.”

“Yeah,” snickered Miles. “Stuck in a room with me.” He tossed a bag of gummy bears at him. “Eat it fast. Before you start nibbling on the curtains.”

Alex, pointedly ignoring that line, was hungry indeed and tore into the sugar. “I know you're having the time of your life, high on caffeine, watching me suffer, seeing as I'm all out of wit and therefore defenseless. But here's a warning for you. Come tomorrow, come breakfast, my revenge will come.”

“Remind me not to wake you, then.”

He heard rustling. A crunching sound. Eyes shot up, zeroed in on him. “What was that?”

Miles crouched. “Nothin'.”

“You're hiding something. What did you find?”

Crouching became covering. “None.”

Alex let go of the gummy bears. Walked over. Like a cop watching his perp, waiting for him to fuck up, he kept his sight on him. That look on Miles' face, the hidden quirk of his lips, that dare tugging on his eyebrows, that glint of mischief…

A cookie fell to the floor.

Alex gasped. “You hide cookies from me?”

“There's only five of 'em,” explained Miles, sheepish yet innocent. “I gave you the bears!”

“Cookies!”

“Want one?”

“Fifty-fifty. Like the Vodka.”

“Already ate two.”

“You sneaky little— Gimme the other ones!”

“No.” He held out his hand. “Here's one.”

Alex tackled him.

Miles burst into laughter. “You gonna kill the cookies!”

He didn't. He extracted them with grace. Letting up, sitting back, he munched 'em quickly. Then he kicked his shoes off and tried to drone out Miles' wheezes.

“If anyone saw us now, they'd think we're starving folks.”

“We wouldn't be, but _somebody_ decided that we should skip lunch in favor of a huge dinner.”

“How was I supposed to know about the hotel-fuck up? Management said we'd have a fancy-ass suite waiting for us – one with _two_ bedrooms – and that it would come with a personal chef! If you're that bloody hungry, there's a Burger King across the street.”

Alex grunted. “Nah.” He went for the gummy bears again. “Already took my shoes off.”

A snort from Miles. “I'd go but—”

“You're too dressed-up for it?”

“Oh, look at that. What wonders a bit of sugar can do to your wit, eh?”

Arms pulled free of his button-up and Alex didn't bother putting on a vest or a tee. He got up, dropped his trousers, and rummaged through his bag for a pair of sweats.

Sitting on the floor, arms crossed beneath his chin, leaning onto the chair, Miles chuckled. “What a peachy sight…”

“I'm this tempted to flash you just to shut you up,” informed him Alex, giving up on the sweats when he spun around to meet his baiting eyes. “Know what? Maybe I should sleep naked. How'd you feel about that, huh?” Hands went to his underwear. The grin on Miles' face lost a good few millimeters of its size.

_Oh yeah_ , thought Alex. _Look at you, Mister Big Talk!_

Thumbs slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers and he cocked his head to the side, giving the fabric a nudge, exposing more of himself yet keeping the good bits shielded.

What had been a giant grin before was now a tiny one, one Miles fought hard to retain. His friend was trying to save his face. Alex could tell.

Time for a smirk of his own. Lips whipped into a curve. Eyes got small. He winked. “Wanna see more? Tell me, Miles. Should I keep going?”

“Er…” Miles sat up, looked at the ceiling, and shrugged. “I don't think that's necessary. I get your point.”

“You do?”

Miles tossed the socks back. “Fine. Peace?”

Alex let go of his bottoms. The problem with teasing Miles was that Alex never knew how far it would lead. Sometimes, Miles cracked fast. Other times, he didn’t crack at all. And then, Alex would be forced to go through with it to save face. The thought of giving Miles a free peep show had rattled his composure and he tried to hide it. His body was taut and terse, more so than it had been all night. The waving of a white flag had come just in time and he was only too happy to accept it. “Gladly.” Two curt nods were exchanged. War had come to an end. He pulled the comforter away. “This bed better be comfortable.”

“It's not even ten yet,” blinked Miles, irritated. “You're going to bed?”

“What else am I supposed to do? There's no room service, I don't wanna get shitfaced in some hotel bar, and I really don't want to go out tonight.” He'd actually looked forward to a quiet night in. The last days on the tour bus, constantly around people, always drinking, always drawn into conversations, had left him exhausted. “Wanna lie in bed and watch tv. What are your plans? If you do go out, bring me a burger.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Miles aimed for the bed as well. “Had planned on having some nice time to myself, writing maybe.”

“Don't mind if you do.”

“Can't. Guitar is at the _Filmore_ , for the show tomorrow. The suite was supposed to have a piano in it. A baby grand.”

“Yeah.” Alex leaned back. “Read that, too.” He'd also envisioned a moment with it. Rolling over to Miles' side of the bed, reaching for the remote which was on the nightstand there, he narrowly escaped him as he got in. “Careful! It's a small bed.”

“No kidding,” agreed Miles and tried to find the right spot. “Surprised it even has two pillows.” His he wedged behind his back to rest against the headboard.

Alex's forehead furrowed and he watched him expectantly.

Miles frowned. “What?”

“Didn't you offer to place your pillow between us?”

“Well…now?” With a pout, he reached for it.

Alex stopped him in a moment of weakness. And he only did it because Miles had moved to part from it, demonstrating his willingness to keep the peace. “Keep it, alright?” He was no doubt exhausted, too, and if anyone loved a good pillow it was him. “I promise not to spoon you and to toss you out on your ass if you try and spoon me. No reason why you shouldn't be comfy.”

With twitching lips, Miles glanced at him. “Very nice of you. I make no such promises,” he made clear. “Who knows what I’ll do when I fall asleep.”

“Again,” reiterated Alex. “You make a move on me, I’ll send you packing!”

“You know, you speak as though you expect me to make a move on you.” Infuriating amusement spilled over every crevice of Miles’ face as he sank further into bed. “Why is that, Alex?” His head rolled to the side as he sharpened his gaze much like a probing psychologist would. Alex squinted. “Well, Alex, would you like me to make a move on you?”

Alex grabbed his pillow and hit him with it.

Miles laughed. “Testy, eh?”

“Let’s just watch tv. Else you land on the floor faster than you like.”

“Only if you land there with me.”

“Miles!”

“Sorry!” He held up his hands in surrender.

Alex bit back another eye roll. At this rate, they could actually end up sore from doing turns. “In the future, you will have to stay away from espressos. It’s bad enough when you drink coffee. You’re like that little bunny from the battery commercial who just got a fresh badge of energy shoved up his ass. It’s bloody excruciating.”

“You’re awfully fixated on my ass tonight,” Miles noted nonchalantly.

Alex shrugged. “When you’re usually the one all over mine, right?”

A yelp hit the air. “Alex Turner,” mocked Miles theatrically. “What are you suggesting?”

“Not suggesting anything,” countered Alex with as much flippancy as he could muster in an effort to change strategies and fight back with his resurgent brainpower. “Merely pointing out that there have been quite a few times on this tour of ours in which you’ve put your hands on my delectable backside. Not that I blame you for it. My behind is quite beguiling, I’m well aware.” He switched the tv on. “Squats, if you care to know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re working.”

“I know.”

“Any chance you’ll let me put my hands on your delectable backside tonight?”

He bit his tongue. Damnit, how hard was it to beat him at this? Alex remained cool and reserved. “If you get lucky.” Fingers fiddled with the remote, flipping through the channels. Because he was busy anticipating what Miles might say next and how to best counter it, going as far as having entire strands of conversations inside his head, he didn’t notice what took place on television.

There was some sort of notification springing up and he didn’t care to read it. He narrowed in on the remote, searching the ‘make it go away’ button.

Miles offered assistance. “Press ‘enter’,” he advised, his tone distant.

Alex did. The pop-up window went away. The film began. Some sort of slow movie, he guessed. Awfully composed, however relaxing notes played in the background as area shorts of a lodge filled the screen. There was snow and a view of a barn. Horses.

Ugh, whatever. He looked at Miles. “Wanna watch this?”

“Oh, definitely,” assured Miles, giddy at the prospect.

Tilting back, immediately worried that something awful was about to happen because his many years with Miles had taught him that an excited Miles always, _always_ equaled trouble – mainly for Alex – he pinched his nose and dreaded to ask, “why?”

“What do you mean, why? You chose the film. I agree we should watch it!”

Nah, there was more. “Do you know the film?” Eyes returned to the screen. The camera took its time zooming in from the greater outdoors to the barn. “Is it one of those silly films? A parody or some like that?” He wanted nothing but a few quiet hours and a boring movie to take his mind off. “None of those, like, artsy ass films, right?” Thinking, he did not want to do! And sometimes, Miles was into weird modern shit. He kept watching.

Miles shook his head and snuggled deeper into the sheets. “Nothin’ like that at all. I haven’t seen it before, but judging by the title, I’d say it’ll be a very… _diverting_ …movie.”

“Diverting?” Alex pronounced it dubiously. “What’s the title?”

“Eh…”

“Mi?”

“Look, actors!”

“Miles!” He did look, curious that he was. There, in the middle of a barn stood a man. Longish, blonde hair. Muscles everywhere. Shirtless. In a barn? Irritating, but hey, whatever. Maybe he’d accidentally soiled his shirt or— The man in question began oiling himself up. Everywhere.

With greasy fingers which definitely ruined the jeans he now took off in such a languid way that Alex had a fierce urge to take over the task and do it for him – a thought that struck out of nowhere and tore through his mind like a bloody battle-ax – the increasingly shiny actor soon stood naked in the barn. And just as the last sock was gone, another actor entered the scene. One already oiled up and naked.

What kind of barn was that?!

Next to him, his trusted friend and partner-in-crime had the time of his life nearly choking on his glee. One which came exclusively at Alex’s expense.

“’tis called…” Miles cleared his throat. “ _‘The Chalet of Dicks’._ ” From below the sheets he pulled his phone. “Googled it. Says it’s a masterclass in gay pornography with Chance Powers at his best.” He burst into cackles. “You pay the pay-per-view bill, that’s for sure. And I’ll be right there with you when she hands it to you! Seriously though, the title?! _‘The Chalet of Dicks’?!_ Chaaa-leeet?”

Alex grunted as he rushed to change the channel, furious as he muttered under his breath, “I can already envision you standing on stage tomorrow, lost in a giggle fit trying to sing that bloody lyric!”

Miles flung himself to the side, pressed himself up against Alex’s instantly rigid body, and, drowning in an ever-present undercurrent of endless amusement, grinned up at him. “It’s _‘The Chalet of Dicks’_! How can I not sing it. And it fits perfectly!” To prove it, he sang it. Not only that, he changed the entire damned stanza. “ _Ghost riders and The Rat and Parrot, Croc-skin collar on a diamond cock, dirtbag shagging by the bins down the alley as I screw in the Chalet of the—_ Fuck, it doesn’t fit.”

“Not shit, it doesn’t. I’d say there’s quite a difference between the chalet of dicks and the chalet of the shadow of dicks. Also, unless the dicks are all neatly aligned, there’d be shadows, multiple ones, and not _the_ shadow of _the_ dick or _the_ dicks, which would much rather fit into the extroverted imagery of this now so utterly corrupted song of ours. A song that was beautifully innocent before your rotten mind took a turn with it.”

Once more lost in a bout of laughter, Miles, by now, had fully collapsed against Alex’s body. One acutely and annoyingly aware of him. Why on earth did he have to be so freakishly warm and— Alex bent down and sniffed. “Why do you smell like gin?”

“Had one earlier in the bar when you went to the loo.”

It was beginning to make sense. Liquor and espresso, a deadly combination for Miles. Alex deflated into the pillow and dragged his hands over his face. He’d not get a second’s worth of sleep tonight! Awake, slightly blitzed Miles was the worst Miles imaginable. That’s when he ran headfirst into everything, from trouble to joke to bad ideas to anything else. And more often than not, he dragged Alex right along for the ride.

“You’re the only person in the world who would dissect the shadows of dicks between singular and plural and how they fit into the exov—“ Lips tried to wrap around the word. “Exta— Showboaty lyrics you’re so bloody into.”

From the pillow, the head reared up. “ _Showboaty_ ,” flared Alex indignantly. “I should fill you up more often. What else you think of my lyrics? And may I remind you we wrote this damned album together!”

“Don’t get mad at me! I like my lyrics simple. With your new songs, one always has to _think_ and it gives me headaches! Not saying they’re bad lyrics. You know I love your lyrics. They’re just very…”

“Yeees?”

_Come on, Mi. Don’t shirk now. Spill it!_

One eyebrow pulled upwards, he squared his shoulders and met his eyes dead-on. “ _Smart_.”

“Oh, that’s not what you wanted to say!”

“It is,” he bit back.

“Sounds like an insult when you say it.”

“Can’t help the fact that you’re a show-off.”

Alex gaped.

Miles winced. “Shit, I meant to _think_ that part.” He rolled back onto his back, let one hand fall to the floor next to him, and blindly fished for something. A minute later, he held out a mini-bottle of vodka. “Sorry?”

“Gimme that!” Alex drank it in one big gulp, experienced drinker that he was. “Show-off?”

“I love you, you know that!”

“Show-off?!”

“Not, like, in a bad way. You know you’re smart. And you want the world to know that you can write fancy-ass lyrics. It’s not bad, Al.”

Alex crawled over Miles’ resting figure, wiggled and writhed until Miles groaned, and found what he’d searched for – the remaining three bottles of vodka. “Mine,” he announced as he sat back, only to finish off the second one. “Did I force my fancy-ass lyrics on you?” He knew he could at times get lost in the quest for the most out-there way of saying something.

“No,” assured Miles. “I love this album. And I admire you for being so smart. I like that about you. It wasn’t an insult at all. I merely pointed out that I don’t know anyone who cares enough for the overall message of a song that he’d go as far and correct jokey lyrics. I think it was a compliment.”

“Well,” mumbled Alex, aiming for the third bottle, “I don’t know anyone who can insert dicks and cocks into lyrics at the speed you can.”

A snorted grin shot to Miles’ lips and he slanted forward, planting a kiss straight onto Alex’s shocked mouth. “There.”

“Huh?”

He’d kissed him. Miles had kissed him. He’d bloody kissed him a dozen times, always like this. They’d kissed each other like that a dozen times. In jest. As a sign of a sprawling, incomparable friendship. Never before had it taken his speech away. Never before had his lips tingled.

He vaguely recalled having a bottle of alcohol in his hands and he tried unscrewing it but something was wrong. It felt odd. Different. He looked there.

Ah.

There was no bottle.

That explained it.

In front of him, Miles was busy emptying it, wearing a mighty strong smirk and no vest. “Where’s your vest?” He was fairly certain he’d worn one when he’d entered the bed. Ninety-nine percent sure.

Ninety-eight point nine.

“Took it off. Is warm!”

No kidding.

It was very warm. Especially inside this bed. Maybe he should take his vest off. When he reached there to do it he realized he wasn’t wearing one. Why on earth was it so bloody warm, then?

Miles patted around for the remote, accidentally patting something else along the way.

“Hey!”

“Sorry. Where’s the remote.”

He handed it over.

Miles put the film back on.

“Are you fucking insane?” Alex all but jumped him in an effort to get the thing back. “Not gonna lie in bed with you while watching porn!”

“Feel free to leave the bed,” suggested Miles, “but you already rented the movie and I think it’s a waste of your hard-earned money to let that purchase go to waste.”

“What’s it that thing cost? A fucking dollar?”

“Seven dollars.”

Okay, now he was outraged for a different reason. “I spent seven dollars for gay porn?” Alex settled back down. “This better be the best damn thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Oh, we’re watching then?” Miles squealed with delight. “Awesome!”

“None of this _EVER_ leaves this room, are we clear?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Miles, I’m serious.”

“Are you worried about your reputation? Scared the press could find out you’re into the whole oily-men thing?”

He didn’t give a shit about some story or what fucking ever. But if his band found out, his life would be over. Torn. Shredded. Scarred remains. They’d laugh louder than any crowd at any festival had ever cheered.

Miles raised his hand. “I solemnly swear.”

“Fine.”

“Make room for me.”

Eyes bulged as Miles slipped free of the covers only to settle on the sheets, but between Alex’s legs. “You’ve fucking lost it, haven’t you?”

“’Tis a fucking uncomfortable bed, this one. And you’re much more pliant and welcoming.”

He was no such thing, least of all welcoming. His hands shoved against his shoulders. “You sleep in a tiny fruit bowl on the bus. How is this worse than the bunk?”

“The bunk I’ve squished into surrender. It’s perfectly adjusted to my body, now. The pillow is small and squishy, the mattress got my dent in it, and my feet know how to bend to fit. This bed is new and, you know, foreign!” Alex’s strenuous attempts to get him off of him all failed.

Miles nestled in. Head against Alex’s chest, butt against his inner thighs, he was happy and content. Alex, meanwhile, was at a loss. “Press play.”

One very deep inhale and exhale later, Alex did. “This comes out, I’ll throw you to the wolves myself.”

“Stop being grumpy and enjoy.”

What else was there to do? Alex roughed Miles’ forgone pillow behind his head and did just that. On the screen, the two mid-thirties beefcakes began going for _it_ and Alex decided to see this less as a weird-as-fuck porn-watching experience, but rather a teaching moment. “No wonder they’re doing it in a barn,” he pointed out. “What with all that oil, they’d have to toss the entire damned bed.”

“Ever oiled up?”

“Me?” A solid snort. “Why? Like I’m some fried chicken going for the hot pan. No thanks. I get freaked out by sunscreen. I doubt I could even get it up oiled up like tuna in a can.”

“I admire your honesty, Al!”

“You’re into that shit?”

“God, no! Not just the oil. Like, that barn? Watch’em. Blondie got the short-haired one flat on a haystack. Can you imagine that shit sticking to your body?”

Alex shook with laughter. “You realize how bloody old we sound, right? Two middle-aged men preferring to do it on a big bed with soft sheets and no extras.”

“Hey, who do you call middle-age?! I’m much younger than you!”

“Are we now, all of sudden?”

“ _We_ are that,” stated Miles. “I don’t mind funky sex places. Just not on scratchy hay.” Out there, on the tv, on the hay, some serious blowing action took place. Miles slanted his head to the side, paying rapt attention. “He’s doing good!”

Matching Miles’ admiration for the actor’s oral talents, Alex nodded in agreement. “Nice technique.” Between his legs, Miles started to squirm. And it was enough for Alex to extend a harsh warning. “You get hard by this, you can sleep in the bathroom!”

A bark of laughter from Miles. “I’m not the one gettin’ all stiff there.”

“You’re fucking on top of me, rolling from side to side. I’m not turned on by you or the bloody porn. My dick doesn’t know it’s you who’s messing with me.”

“Yes, your dick knows! You know, therefore your dick knows!”

“It’s a fucking physical reaction,” Alex explained away, glad that Miles couldn’t see his face or his red cheeks. “Friction causes excitement. Excitement excites the dick. The dick stirs.”

“Aw, it sounds so romantic when you talk about dicks!”

“Bite me.”

“I’m tempted!”

Alex wrapped his arms around Miles’ body. “Stay still and the dick stops stirring.” A reasonable alternative would be to kick Miles out of bed. He wondered why that thought didn’t hold more merit to him. He readdressed his attention to the film where the actors had moved on from blow-jobs to real fucking. “Stop. Wiggling!”

“‘m thinking,” Miles told him.

“You need to wiggle for that?”

“Well, thinking’s a hard job, isn’t it? Requires a lot of things.”

A chuckle.

Miles continued. “They need a better marketing department.”

“The porn people?”

“Yeah! Think about it. ‘ _The Chalet of Dicks’_. Sounds bloody awful. Needs a touch of elegance, or some like that.”

“How’d you call it?”

“Let’s see…how about…oh, got one. _‘The Lodge of the Long Logs’_! Good, eh?”

Alex was done for. “It’s bloody good, I give you that!” Through wild mirth, he added, “love the alliteration.” 

“Right? Could write to ‘em. Suggest a change.”

“As long as you don’t sign with your name.”

“I’ll use yours.”

He pinched his arm. Miles reciprocated by slamming his elbow into Alex’s stomach. “Ouch!” This time, it was Alex who jolted, thanks to the solid attack. Miles dropped further between his legs. The contact had mad consequences. Horrible ones. Alex moaned. Out loud!

Miles being Miles, naturally, was elated. “You like me on top of you, don’t you?” Eyebrows waggled suggestively, goading him as he turned to smirk his way. “Nice little bottom you are.”

Alex ticked his jaw and scoffed. “Ohoho! Eh, newsflash: Take the blanket away, you know, put the pieces together, so to speak, and you’d be the bottom in this one.”

“In your dreams!”

Because he was mildly drunk, so far from acting smart that he’d even left the country of stupidity behind him a while ago, and because Miles wanted it no other way, Alex channeled all of his energy, gave his friend a mighty shove, and spun ‘em over, rolling him onto his stomach and straddling Miles’ ass. At least that’s how he argued it in his head. The blanket remained in between. He spanked him.

Miles yelped between giggles.

“Who’s a bottom, now, huh?”

Writhing to get away, shaking with laughter, all that commotion between him did his arousal no good. Or very good. Depending on the outlook. At any rate, he was fucking solid. His mind tried to reason with that development, but it got him sidetracked. He lost his footing and landed on his back with Miles on top and no sheet to keep things from turning even worse than they already were.

“You’re into spanking?” Miles taunted him. Leaned forward, gripping one of Alex’s bare thighs for support. The firm clasp was a turn-out lacking all precedent. The smile still clung to Miles’ face, but it was a different one, now. One that was no longer light and teasing, but dark and dangerous. He was breathing harder, too. Breathing in ways Alex had never seen him do before. Like a wild animal about to charge. Eyes were pitch black.

His hand roamed up the leg.

Alex’s cock was so fucking hard that it hurt. How had this situation spiraled so quickly? His sight dropped to Miles’ underwear. His briefs, short and tight, did nothing to hide that bulge. That big, twitching arousal. That hard shaft. He licked his lips.

Miles lowered his head, holding his breath.

“We’re about…” Alex stopped. Where had his voice gone? He was left with little but a scratchy whisper. “About to do something insanely stupid.”

“Yes.” The thumb disappeared beneath the hem of his boxers. “When has that ever stopped us before?”

“Fair point.” He swallowed against the dryness in his mouth.

“What happens in this room, stays in this room,” croaked Miles. The entire hand was underneath his boxer’s fabric. Rough finger pads scraped against the last shreds of hesitation inside of him, only to wipe them out completely when the tip of his thumb swiped over his erection.

Alex barged up, slammed his mouth against Miles’, and kissed him as good as he could. Hard and passionately, to offset and counter what insecurity he might have. There was very little, he conceded to himself. As if this kiss had been years in the making. As if a part of him had always known this moment would arrive. As if he’d made peace with it years ago.

Miles’ hand had fully wrapped around his member, stroking him better than any woman had ever done before. Like he knew how Alex needed to be touched. Like he knew better than anyone else. Was it ‘cause he was a guy and more in tune with the delicate needs of a penis? Or was it ‘cause he was Miles and Miles always knew what Alex needed even when he didn’t know himself? Both were true, was it not? He arched into him, slid his hand into Miles’ underwear, and hoped to meet his partner’s need as well. “Fuck, yes! Shit…feels…so fucking good…” His head stretched back. He bared his throat. Miles licked and kissed and nipped there, driving Alex closer and closer to the edge. He felt so big on top of him. So large and hard and male.

Miles was strong and unyielding. Alex dragged his nails over his back and he knew it wasn’t putting him off, not scaring him. It fucking spurred him off, made him go more vigorously. His low, vibrant voice droned into his ear, from there it tore through every crevice of his body. “Fucking want you!” Gone were the joking and the quips and the giggles. This Miles, the one who manipulated him into a pile of molten desire, was raw and untamed and sexual. Alex shuddered beneath him.

Gruff hands tugged on his legs, angled them as he pushed himself against his cock, going for greater friction. Growing desperate when it remained elusive.

Alex remembered his own strengths, his own needs, pushed against him, rolled ‘em around. Yanked Miles’ boxers down and decided to go all in. Scooting down, between his legs, he didn’t waver or pause, but let his lust consume him as he sank his mouth down Miles’ cock, for once tonight being the one who turned him into a speechless, garbling mess. Miles’ response was swift. Fingers tangled in his hair, tore on it, drove his body’s reaction to unknown heights.

“Gonna…Imma…Alex…” Miles shivered everywhere.

Alex let up, wiped a finger across his lips, and stared straight into his eyes. “Where do you wanna cum?”

“In your ass,” announced Miles, sat up, and gripped that part of his body as though it was his own. Tonight, Alex would gladly hand it over. They tumbled over and roared with laughter as they fell out of bed, onto the floor. Alex relaxed, stretched his arms over his head, and offered himself. A gift Miles eagerly made use of. His hands stroked down his chest, his abdomen, then lower, to give his dick a knead. Alex’s eyes began to flutter. He could feel his body spiraling out of control. He turned to move.

Miles’ flat hand spread against his chest, thrusting him into the carpet. “On your back,” he ordered, his voice a rough gravel. “Not done with your front yet.”

“By all means,” panted Alex.

It was his turn to take him into his mouth, his moment to try and figure out if he liked it. If he didn’t, he sure knew how to mask it for he fucking guzzled on Alex’s cock as if it were the world’s tastiest dessert.

The world vanished. Around him, the world dissolved into blurs and shapelessness. He fisted the carpet and failed, clutched the bed instead, squirmed and wailed. “Fuck me already!” He didn’t last much longer.

A moment later, covered with a condom and lubed up, Miles raised Alex’s legs over his shoulders, ready to push in. “Gonna…”

“Do it,” begged Alex. He wasn’t made of glass. He could handle it. “Take me, Miles. Fucking take me!”

Bit by bit he slipped inside, insufferably slow. Lips met for wet, sloppy kisses between which Alex struggled for air. Both of them did. “’tis good,” he promised him. “Keep going!”

And then he was inside, stretching him impossible wide. “Gnghh…yeah!”

Miles pulled out just a bit, slid back in, little movements, enough to take ‘em over. All of it, the rush of something new, the excitement of doing this with him, the stuff they’d done leading up to this moment, it was too much. Alex felt the orgasm grip his spine and sprawl through his body at a pace so bloody torturous that it threatened to take him out. He’d never seen stars before, as people claimed could happen. He was sure saw them now.

On top of him, sweaty and sticky, Miles lay. The aftershocks still crawled through Alex, leaving him unable to do nothing. He was high. He had to do something. He nudged Miles to the side, off of him, only to advance on him and leave kisses all over his neck. Hands roamed his body. His tongue licked over his Adam’s apple, tasting the sweat and finding it arousing in ways that staggered him.

One lazy kiss at a time, they calmed down. Came to rest in each other’s arms. And only as his breathing returned to normal and the surroundings of the hotel room came back into view did he spot the discarded condom and the tube of lube. “Why…what…” He raised his head to check if it was really there or just a figment of his imagination. But it was. There. By Miles’ bag. “Why do you have that with you?”

Momentarily confused, Miles followed his line of sight. Then bestowed Alex with the kind of breathy chuckle that he used to think could test the patience of a saint but now found captivating to no end. A fucking sexy sound that one was. Miles’ hand trailed over Alex’s bare hip, down to his ass, which he squeezed. “Been waiting for a chance like this.”

“To grope my ass?” He asked with a smile. His mind worked slowly at the moment.

“To have you,” Miles replied. “To be with you. To see…” He swept forward for a kiss that left him breathless all over again. “To find out if you’d want that, too.”

The past weeks played back on his mind. The countless times they’d flirted and brushed it off as stage antics or attempts to mess with interviewers. The many nights they’d been reluctant to go to bed for that meant parting from each other. The needless hugs. The sly touches. The little, nearly inexistent pecks here and there which always left him with a thudding heart. 

The night in the bunk the other day. When Miles had nuzzled in. “You were awake, weren’t you? When I woke up in the bunk…in your bunk?”

“You fled so bloody fast I feared I’d freaked you for good.”

“Then why—”

“Bring the lube?” Eyes glinted, wearing that coyness Alex could never resist. He brushed his lips over Miles’. A little tease. Miles smiled. “You dreamt about me. Last night. Heard you moan my name in the middle of the night. Got me thinking that maybe—”

“You should put your moves on me?”

“Was shocked you let me slide between your legs to watch porn with you.”

He’d been, too! “Now what?”

“Now,” suggested Miles, rolling back on top of him. “We fuck this thing out of our system before we step back out into reality.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“We’ll have to ditch the bus for more hotel rooms.”

“Thank God there are so many!” 

***


End file.
